The Case of the disapearing telescope
by Level50Cleric
Summary: Sherlock goes on another typical mystery involving the telescope of Captain Cook. If you want adventure, go look for something else. This story mainly revolves around Sherlock solving a case, and in imitating the original style of the author Sir Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle. I did this originally for a class assignment, but I decided to upload it to have a story to my name. Enjoy!


Bryan Tor

Period 1, 2

Brazil

**The Case of the Disappearing Telescope**

There is many a mystery that I choose to withhold, for these mysteries are not akin to the ones that the public finds most popular. Instead, these cases are simply show off Sherlock's ability when faced with too small a challenge. But however, I have chosen to publish this case as a demonstration of Sherlock's ability to solve such small cases with relative ease.

It was in the latter days of February around the time of this case. The snow had come down for the past few days, filling all of London. My practice had filled up as the entire populace began to be affected by the cold weather. Finally, after days of hard work, I found a day off to visit my old friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes.

No sooner than had I rang the bell, than I saw Gregson (a detective of the Scotland yard) head in my direction.

"This is convenient," he commented, "I have need of Sherlock's services, and so I began my way here. But it looks as if he already perceived my request, and has called you too. I'll never understand how he does it."

Before I could explain to him that the time of my arrival was a coincidence, the door swung upon, and Ms. Hudson ushered us in. Sherlock sat in his armchair, reading the paper. Upon our arrival, he ushered me to my seat. Ms. Hudson walked back in, carrying a chair which Gregson could sit on.

"Why this is an unexpected surprise," Sherlock remarked, "but there is no doubt in my mind that Watson has come for a visit while you, Gregson, have come with a case. That is good, for I was almost overcome with boredom. Let us hear it then."

"There is no doubt in my mind that you both have heard of the Murray Case, so I shall go straight into my story without a delay," began Gregson.

"Contrary to your belief, I have never heard of the Murray Case," interrupted Sherlock.

Gregson sighed. "Then I shall explain it quickly, seeing that there is little time left. A week ago, Mr. Claus Murray left his house for a business trip to France. He returned to find that his coffers were missing a hundred pounds and a family heirloom of his was missing, gathered from his successful career as a banker. The local Inspector was summoned, but he could not make anything of the case. This led to my involvement, and –despite the facts that we have figured out the day of the crime- this case has not yet been a successful one_._"

"So you have come for my help? There's no need to answer that. Watson, will you accompany us?"

"I would like nothing better," I replied.

"Then seeing that we have our merry little band, if you could please call a handsome, we should be well on our way."

It was a clear morning, for the sky lacked a single cloud. My companions contrasted in their moods, Gregson having a grim expression on his face, and Sherlock humming a Stradivarius tune.

At around 9:00 in the morning, we arrived at the house of Mr. Claus Murray.

"Thank goodness you're here sir," cried a man.

"Gentlemen, may I have the pleasure of introducing you to Mr. Murray. Mr. Murray, this is Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson. They have assisted me many times with several cases, and I believe that they can help me with this one."

"Mr. Holmes, eh?" replied Murray, "Well then, I've heard of you before. You're that one that solved the Red-headed League mystery. I read Mr. Watson's article about it. Well, I have an interesting little problem for you here. Mr. Holmes."

"I shall be glad to see it," sated Sherlock, "I have not heard a description of your heirloom yet. Could you describe it for us?"

"Well, back in the 1700, my great grandfather was an avid explorer. When James Cook began to gather men for his second exploration, he was one of the chosen men. As you know, Captain Cook explored the Eastern-"

"Now I don't need an elaborate story. Just give me the facts, and the sooner you can find your item," interrupted Sherlock.

"Well, I own, or owned, the telescope of Captain James Cook."

I whistled and Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Such an item could be worth a lot.

"Do you have any household servants?" asked Sherlock.

"Well, there is James Gardener, my butler, though I can see why he'd want to betray me. I also have 3 maids in my employment, but like Mr. Gardener, if feel that they are of no concern."

"And was it common knowledge among them that you owned Captain Cook's telescope?"

"Only James Gardner heard the existence of my telescope, although I believe it is common knowledge among the maids that I owned some item of great importance."

"Then what of relatives and relations?"

"Well, there is my brother. He is a gambling fellow, always running out of money. I hoped to send him some cash by employing him to look after my estate while I was gone. Well, as you know gentlemen, when I returned the telescope was gone, and not a word from my brother. I suspect him most of all."

"Anyone else? Remember, anything that seems of trivial knowledge can make the largest differences," said Sherlock.

"There is Mr. Cedric Jones. He is an avid collector of artifacts, and I know that the telescope would do well in his collection. But I have been on good terms with him."

"When did you meet Mr. Cedric Jones?"

"For about 3 months, too many to count."

Sherlock paused to gaze out of a windowsill. While Murray had been telling us his tale, our party had moved into his house.

"Could I see the scene of the crime?"

"Why, of course you may," answered Murray, "If Mr. Gregson would approve it."

"There is no need to tell me of Sherlock's motives," interjected Gregson, "I trust him that any action he takes will be to help you along in your case."

Murray led us to an upstairs room. There was no doubt in my mind -as I entered the room- that the crime had occurred there. Shattered glass littered the floor and a window stood open to the cold drafts of air. The remains of a glass box sat on a table, a placard on it reading: "The telescope of Captain Cook. Given to Horace Murray for saving his life" and an empty stand resting in the center.

"We recovered a sample of tobacco." Gregson gestured to a small plate with tobacco ash in it. Sherlock promptly sniffed the plate and then ignored it for the rest of his search.

Sherlock paced around the room for a while, his eyes darting around. At certain intervals, he stopped to trace the scene for clues that only he could see, and at others it seemed that he smelled the floor. Finally, he looked up at the rest of us, and without mentioning a word, Mr. Holmes bounded out of the window, leaving us in the dark.

"Well then, do we follow him?" asked Mr. Murray, "Frankly, I think you made a bad choice Gregson. This man is crazy, I shall return to my quarters."

With a huff, Murray stormed off.

"I'm afraid I must join Murray, but not for the same reasons. I would like to join Sherlock, but I have other matters to attend to. Here, take my revolver."

Gregson's weapon changed hands, and I soon found myself on the roof of Mr. Murray's residence.

"So it's only me and you now, Watson?" remarked Sherlock as I left the room. No matter, I hope that it would be so. Now come down here and see this."

Walking over to where Sherlock stood, I found nothing more than a roof towering over a garden and I told Sherlock as much. Sherlock shook his head in disappointment.

"Do you see those two imprints?" he pointed downwards to a patch of grass. "That is where our criminal has placed a ladder. Now, I think you should return back to Baker Street. I feel that I have seen all that needs to be seen here, and I plan on doing some investigation on my own."

Without further ado, Sherlock climbed down from the roof and down the ground. Due to my leg injury, I could not follow him, so I circled back into the house and left.

About an hour or so later, Mr. Holmes returned to 221B Baker Street. He sat down upon his armchair. Pulling out his pipe, he started to smoke. A seemingly long period of time lapsed. Finally Sherlock looked me in the eye.

"I have asked for Mr. Murray and Mr. Gregson to come to our residence at around 5:00. There is no point in questioning me, my friend, for I shall refuse to speak until they arrive."

"But the case!" I cried, "Have you solved the mystery yet?"

But no matter how I interrogated him, my stubborn friend refused to respond. It was until 5:00 that Gregson and Murray arrived that Sherlock spoke a word.

"I would like you all to accompany me back to Mr. Murray's residence. I have cause to believe that we will encounter some resistance, so come prepared."

Gregson nodded grimly, but Murray looked uncertain. I guessed it was only because of Gregson's presence that Murray was willing to go.

We arrived at Murray's home at 5:32. Gregson made it for the front entrance, but Sherlock held him back. Silently, our party slowly edged around the house towards the back. I found my hand creeping towards my peace-keeper and I silently jumped every time I heard a sudden sound. Even Murray seemed slightly alert. No longer appearing tired and unconvinced, he seemed mildly attentive to the task we were undertaking.

Upon arriving at the back of Murray's house, Holmes signaled for us to crouch down. I took cover behind a tree, anxiously probing for the purpose of our trip. Gregson and Murray took cover behind a bush. I saw Murray open his mouth to probably complain, but Sherlock signaled to him to be silent. He himself had not hidden, but instead stood openly in the backyard. A long ten minutes passed. Then suddenly a man walked into the circle. It was only my strict discipline and military experience that kept me from crying out in surprise. Murray nearly spoke out, but Gregson firmly wrapped his hand around his mouth. The man seemed to not notice us, and had focused entirely on Sherlock.

"Do you have the goods?" asked the man.

"I do," replied Sherlock, whom had added an accent to his voice, "Do you have the money?"

"Yes I do, but you won't see an inch of it until I get my telescope."

"What do you plan on doing with it though? You know you can't sell it on the market or else the Yard will find out. Then the game would be up."

"Look after your own business, and I'll look after mines. I know a good place where I can sell this beauty. Just finish your job, and your part will be over."

"I don't understand though. Why did I need to steal the extra 100? I thought you were just after the telescope?"

The man spat at the ground. "I had hoped your brother would be more concerned over the absence of the money." He laughed suddenly. "Well, look how well that turned out."

"Look how well that turned out indeed. Mr. Gregson, Mr. Murray. I believe I have your criminal right here in front of you."

The man sprung back, surprised by the change of Sherlock's voice. He was even more surprised by the appearance of my companions. He made a movement for his pocket, but my revolver was soon aimed at his head.

"In the name of the British Law, I place you…"

"Mr. Cedric Jones," Sherlock offered helpfully.

"Mr. Cedric Jones," Gregson concluded, "Under arrest. Anything you say may be used against you."

Gregson led the unhappy criminal away as Murray turned to Sherlock amazed.

"But. Wait. Cedric? Attempt to steal from me? Pardon me Mr. Holmes, but you must tell me how you have solved this case."

"Well, as Watson can tell you, I found a sign of a ladder leading down from the roof. On latter inspection, the tobacco ash found by Mr. Gregson was one of those often smoked by gambling men, which I assumed was your brother. Even though he had a key to unlock the box, I believed that your brother smashed the case open to deflect any suspicion against him. However, after some independent investigation on my own, I found him in a bar, drinking away his sorrows. You should really see him Murray. He apologized to you a thousand times over in his drunken stupor. It only took me a bit of convincing to find your telescope, and to discover the name of his employer. Apparently, Mr. Cedric Jones isn't all that he sounds to be. Mr. Jones is a criminal that

goes by the name of Grime Smith. He has an odd desire for antique items, and has stolen at least a million Euros worth of these artifacts. Past that, I left an advertisement in the newspaper posing as your brother, asking him to meet me in your backyard. This was their main way of communication, you see. It was a simple matter to arrange our meeting for Mr. Jones."

"But what of my telescope?" asked Murray.

"I broke into your house again to return the telescope; you'll find it where it once was."

Mr. Murray ran off back into his house, without a word of thanks to the either of us. But Sherlock was unfazed when I mentioned this to him once we returned home.

"I do not need his thanks, for the mystery is its own reward."


End file.
